


Another Bad Christmas Movie

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Christmas, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan Secret Santa, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 05:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan’s life is not a Christmas movie. Sure, there are some aspects of it that are similar, but that’s true for everyone who has a pulse and has ever heard All I Want For Christmas is You (don’t lie, you probably sing along to it). So maybe she’s a little frustrated and annoyed with some holiday traditions, especially the cheesy ones in the movies, but Killian Jones is going to help change all of that.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [searchingwardrobes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/gifts).



_“I think Christmas magic can heal everything,” Annabeth swoons to William, her body wrapped up in a festive red and green coat with a white dress underneath. She takes a step closer to William, her hand tentatively and appropriately placed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing the slightest bit. “I think it can even heal someone like you who doesn’t believe in Christmas.”_

_“You know, Beth,” William smiles, his own festive hat on top of his head shielding him from the snow falling down, “I think you’re right. But it’s not just the magic of Christmas.”_

_“No?”_

_“No,” he shakes his head, the smile on his face growing brighter, “it’s the magic of your love.”_

_“I love you, too,” Annabeth grins before pressing up on her toes and chastely pressing a kiss against Willian’s lips before the camera zooms out to show all of the townspeople milling around town square, white Christmas lights strung between the buildings with William and Annabeth somehow standing alone right next to the oversized Christmas tree. Right before the screen fades to black, the star on the top of the tree flickers before the credits roll._

 

“That’s a load of crap,” Emma groans, throwing a piece of her popcorn at the television screen like she’s Reese Witherspoon in that one scene in Legally Blonde where she calls Brad Pitt a liar. Emma’s always related to that scene more than most of that movie, and if anyone were to ask her, she’s only seen the movie once or twice and not dozens of times.

 

“You only say that because you’re the Grinch of Storybrooke, Emma,” her mom chastises, and isn’t she too old to be chastised by her mother?

 

“That’s not true,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking further into the couch, wondering if she can just disappear and somehow get out of this conversation she’s very clearly just walked herself into it. Maybe she’s a bit of a Grinch. For tonight at least.

 

“Yes, it is, sweetheart. This movie is romantic, and yes, it’s a little bit cheesy but that’s part of the appeal.”

 

“First of all, it’s November, so why the hell is Hallmark even showing Christmas movies? Shouldn’t they be showing Thanksgiving movies or something like that?”

 

“What’s a Thanksgiving movie?”

 

“A movie where they romanticize the Thanksgiving holiday.”

 

She’d like to see a movie where they fall in love over preparing a turkey. They pull all of the innards out together and then that little tag thing at the end. It’s disgusting, and not nearly as aesthetically appealing as baking perfectly done Christmas cookies or making pies that are family recipes that date back centuries. Excuse her if she doesn’t believe that Annabeth’s great great grandmother was making a blueberry pie with snowflake shaped pie crust and Bluebell ice cream one hundred years ago.

 

“Thanksgiving just doesn’t have quite the appeal of Christmas. I mean, look at this. There’s snow covering the ground as the two of them fall in love again over hot chocolate and baking together. Isn’t that the dream?”

 

“Oh, yes. I’d love to fall in love with my high school boyfriend again, Mom. He was a gem.”

 

Mary Margaret smiles at her, and Emma already knows the words that are going to come out of her mother’s mouth. Yeah, she definitely walked right into this one. She has no excuses other than the inability to not shut her mouth.

 

“I’d like you to fall back in love with him, too. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be with your first love? It’s like your father and me. There’s nothing quite like it.”

 

“Mom, I get that you romanticize everything, but you have to stop romanticizing my relationship with Neal. He was, still is, an asshole. Just because your first love worked out, doesn’t mean mine has to. I don’t know why you can’t understand that first loves aren’t who you have to end up with. I swear it’s like we have this conversation every time you see him in town.”

 

“Emma, I’m – ”

 

“Save it.” She gets up from her seat on the couch and goes to wrap herself in her jacket, fluffing out the hair that gets stuck under the collar. “I’m going to the Rabbit Hole. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the next movie.”

 

As soon as the front door slams behind her and she feels the first gust of cold wind hitting the bare skin of her face, her ears reddening already as her entire body shivers, she knows that she’s messed up when it comes to her mom. She’s just too stubborn to open up the door and go back in to talk about it like the adult she is, instead wandering down the street from her parents’ house to get something to drink and then go home to the quiet paradise that is her apartment. She loves her mom. She really does, but some things she just can’t stomach anymore. Her high school boyfriend, Neal, was a cheater and a liar and an all around horrible human being, and her mom constantly thinks they should get back together because “they were so cute together.” It’s sickening sometimes to see someone so idealistic about the world, and while Emma knows that all Mary Margaret wants is for her to be happy, she’s got to stop pushing her together with people who she doesn’t want to be with. If she wants to find love…well, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But it’s not going to come from her mother’s naïve pushing.

 

It’s freezing tonight, and she wishes she had something other than her red leather jacket to keep her warm. She needs something made of wool along with her gloves and her beanie, but she wasn’t exactly planning on walking through the late night air to go to a bar by herself. She doesn’t usually go into the Rabbit Hole. It’s…seedy at its best, and if she goes, she never goes alone no matter how crime free Storybrooke usually is.

 

All thanks to Sheriff David Nolan, of course.

 

When she opens the beaten down wooden door, a rush of warm air hits her that allows her entire body to practically sigh in relief as her boots cause the hardwood floors to squeak and one or two men at the pool table to look over at her. A different kind of shiver runs through her body at their stares, and even if she can handle herself, she hurries to one of the many empty seats at the bar. It’s quiet in here tonight, more bare than she’s ever seen it before, but she’s also never been in here on a Tuesday this early.

 

“What can I get you, lass?”

 

“A whiskey sour and an explanation as to why the Deputy Sheriff is serving me a drink tonight.”

 

Killian laughs before turning around and quickly fixing her drink, sliding it over to her before propping his arms on the bar counter and scratching behind his ear as his lips quirk up to one side.

 

“It seems that my brother has come down with a cold, and,” he motions to the practically empty bar, “he couldn’t give up all of the potential business that he guaranteed would come from tonight.”

 

“Yeah, it’s super crowded in here. Really a booming business. Everyone must be out committing crimes because the Deputy Sheriff is otherwise occupied with all of these bar goers.”

 

“Ah, ah, love,” he chuckles, inching a bit closer to her before flashing her with one of his grins that she knows so well, “your father is on parole tonight, and no one pulls the wool over his eyes. So our lovely little town should be crime free, especially since two of my five customers are Will and Leroy.”

 

“That’s a very good point.”

 

“So tell me about all of your woes, darling.”

 

“I’ve never told a bartender about my woes before. I think you watched too many movies before coming in here to fill in.”

 

“Aye, but you look like something is bothering you. I’ve known you long enough that you’re a bit of an open book.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“You are. Also, not to take away from Ruby, but we both know I’m your best mate. You’re going to tell me your woes sooner or later. Might as well do it now.”

 

He makes a good point. She was going to call him after she got something to drink. She probably should have called and asked him to come get something to drink with her, but all she wanted was to be alone for a little while. Then she saw his face behind the bar and was thankful for this little stroke of luck at already having him here. They might as well do the whole cliché bartender thing where she fills her body with alcohol and spills her guts to him. Yet here, in this situation, the bartender already knows most of her woes. He’s been there for pretty much all of them, and she can’t lie to him if she tries. She might have her superpower with lying when it comes to, well, everyone, but Killian Jones has one when it comes to her, something that happens when you’ve known someone since you were five and he was seven.

 

That’s…twenty-three years of personal information.

 

“My mother and I got into a fight because she thinks that my life should be a Hallmark movie like hers.”

 

Killian leans forward again, propping his chin on his fist and changing his soft smile into a cheeky grin before shrugging his shoulders. “Is your life not a Hallmark movie? A beautiful woman living in an idyllic seaside town working as a freelance artist and living down the street from your Sheriff of a father and elementary school teacher of a mother who are the perfect examples of good and kind people. That sounds a bit like one of those movies to me.”

 

“You forgot the biggest part.”

 

He raises his eyebrows, waggling them like he’s done ever since she can remember. How does he even do that? She can move hers ups and down but not like that. It’s some kind of weird facial thing, and he’s always used it to his advantage to make her laugh or tease her.

 

“I didn’t forget. I just think there’s more to your life than having a man love you. It’d be nice, and that’d be the luckiest bastard in the world, but it doesn’t define you, love.”

 

“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t see it that way. She’s got this fixation that I should get back together with Neal.”

 

Killian raises an eyebrow (there he goes again) in shock or confusion or something. “Why the bloody hell would she suggest you get back together with the man who slept his way through town while he was still dating you?”

 

“Because my mother is an idealist who thinks that your only love can be your first love.”

 

“No offense to your darling mother, but that’s rubbish. I wouldn’t get back together with my first love for all of the money in the world.”

 

“I’m glad someone in this town is sensible. Even Neal tries to ask me out sometimes, and I just don’t understand that. He betrayed my trust, and he thinks that just because ten years have passed, I’m going to jump back into bed with him? Like, what the hell?”

 

She ends up staying to talk to Killian for the rest of his shift, keeping him company into the late-night hours. She doesn’t drink any more than her one glass, and by the time it’s two in the morning, she’s completely forgotten about her fight with her mother and her distaste for Hallmark movies. She hadn’t seen Killian for a week, something unusual considering how he lives in her building and works for her father, so they used the time to catch up, telling tales of the adventures of his work at the station as well as the weird things people ask her to paint (she is not going to do a nude portrait of Granny no matter how much the woman offers her…maybe a lifetime of free grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings…maybe). Of course, as they always do, they fall into reminiscing on their childhood, tonight getting caught up how much trouble they got in when they were in elementary school and prank called residents from her dad’s phone at the station. She’d been eight and Killian ten, and it was the first time either of them had gotten grounded.

 

Now, though, she’s twenty-eight to Killian’s thirty, and they don’t get grounded for any of their shenanigans, mostly because the most they do is each eat their own box of pizza while drinking rum in one of their apartments.

 

But also because they’re adults.

 

After locking up the bar and making sure that Will and Leroy get home safely ( _a police officer is never off duty, love_ ), Killian walks her to her apartment – okay, so hers is two floors up and a fire escape away from his so he was going that way anyways – his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his beanie on top of her head to keep her warm. His little elf ears are tipped in red from the cold, his new shorter hair cut showing them off, and she has to stifle her giggle so as not to laugh at them. She thinks a lot of the cheesiness of Christmas is crap, but if every elf was like her best friend, maybe it wouldn’t all be bad.

 

“G’night, love,” he whispers after getting her inside her apartment door, the coolness of it after a day of nonuse almost as bad as the chill outside. “You bringing your dad lunch tomorrow?”

 

“I am before I have to go buy new paints.”

 

“Good,” he takes a step back, snatching the knit hat off of her head, “I think I’d like a toasted sandwich with some of that tomato soup from Granny’s, if you’d be so kind.”

 

She doesn’t get a chance to say that he can buy his own damn lunch before he’s jogging down the staircase at the end of the hall and heading to his own apartment. She hears a few muffled curses before she closes her front door, and the goofball most definitely just tripped on the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Her week passes quickly, a surprising amount of people asking her to take last minute Christmas card photos or commissioning her to edit the photos they’ve already taken and making them into themed cards. She mostly deals with painting because that’s what she loves, but she’d go broke if that was the only thing she did. Storybrooke isn’t exactly an expensive town to live in, but a girl’s got to live in some place other than the shady apartments down past the docks or with her parents. So she takes photos to live. She’s done everything from weddings to Christmas cards to family portraits to portraits of pets. That last one is her favorite. If her apartment allowed dogs, she’d get one, no question. She had a border collie growing up, sweet Wilby, and she’d love to have another precious companion like that.

 

Maybe someday.

 

She’s just finishing the edits of Anna and Kristoff’s Christmas cards, the two of them wanting a bright, colorful card while Anna’s sister Elsa wants a card of whites and icy blues, when she hears muffled curses and a loud bang out on her fire escape.

 

It’s either a burglar or…

 

Killian.

 

Sighing, she rolls back in her desk chair and goes to her living room window, unlocking it and lifting up the glass pane to see Killian’s head pop up through the gap for the ladder, his black hair covered in a red and white Santa hat, and when he pulls himself up on the metal platform, she sees that he’s got several brown paper grocery bags.

 

“What are you doing, Killian? You know I have a front door? And you have a key to it, by the way.”

 

“Aye,” he grunts, scrambling to his feet and through the window, handing her the grocery bags so that he can more easily get inside, “but Ms. Roberts is sitting on the staircase, and I’d rather not get roped into her trying to set me up with her daughter again.”  
  


“Why don’t you want to date her again?”  
  


“Well, she’s seventeen for one, and I find myself liking adults.”

 

“You make a valid point.” She takes the bags and walks them the few feet to her kitchen counter. Her apartment is basically one room with a bedroom and bathroom down the hall in the back, and she can get to anything she needs in just a few steps. Shuffling through the bags she sees sugar, eggs, milk, icing, sprinkles, everything one would need to make…cookies.

 

“Killian, did you get a sudden urge to make cookies? You don’t even like cookies that much.”

 

“Eh,” he protests, reaching up to scratch at his ear before moving down to rub at his scruff, “I like them on occasion,” he pats his stomach, “but I do like to keep in shape by avoiding a lot of sweets.”

 

“So why the sudden penchant for baking?”

 

“Because, darling, I was thinking – ”

 

“That’s never a good idea.”

 

Killian rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “You’re being awfully cheeky, Nolan, when I’m about to change your entire world.”

 

“With your baked goods?”

 

“Is that an innuendo?”

 

“How could that possibly be an – ” she slaps his chest when the realization hits her, and he simply waggles his eyebrows and gets and cheeky grin plastered across his face as well, “ – you’re so gross. So how are you going to rock my entire world?”

 

His left eyebrow raises even higher, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize where she’s messed up. “I mean change my world. How are you going to change my world?”

 

“I’m going to make you believe in the wonders of Christmas!”

  
  
She peers into the bag again, her skepticism rising with every moment that passes. She gets frustrated baking with the cookie dough that comes pre-cut. She can’t imagine how annoyed she’ll get having to make them from scratch. How the hell does Killian even know how to make cookies from scratch? And how is it going to make her believe in the wonders of Christmas? She already believes in the wonders of Christmas. She just doesn’t believe in some of the overly cringe-worthy Christmas activities they do in Hallmark movies where the people somehow fall in love in a month. It’s unrealistic.

 

“Through cookies?”

 

“Cookies, among other things, aye. I was thinking about our conversation at the bar the other day, and while, no, life isn’t a Hallmark movie, there are some things I think we could learn from them. So you and I are going to partake in as many cheesy Christmas traditions as we can.”

 

“What the hell? Why?”

 

“Because I was thinking that you deserve to love Christmas, Emma. I know you don’t hate it or anything, but not every tradition is bad. And I don’t want you to be so bitter about your relationships in the past that you can’t have fun.”

 

“Aren’t most of these activities romantic? I mean, that’s what those movies are about. I’m not bitter by the way. I was just pissed at my mom.”

 

“Aye, but they don’t have to be romantic.” Okay, so he’s just ignoring her protests then, unpacking all of the ingredients and placing them on her countertops. “Come on, love. It’ll be fun. I’ll make it fun, and it’ll be so much better than us slopping around in our apartments doing nothing.”

 

Killian has apparently never once made cookies from scratch, so it takes three hours and five batches before they finally get a cookie sheet full of oddly shaped (he brought Christmas shaped cookie cutters to really round out the fun, and they _do not work_ in the slightest) sugar cookies. Her entire apartment is going to smell like sugar for days, and she’s pretty sure that their super is going to yell at them for how much trash they put down the shoot. Killian also yelled at her for trying to sneak a cookie fresh out of the oven, so it’s really just par for the course at this point.

 

“They have to cool, darling. We’re decorating them.”

 

“Do you know how to decorate cookies?”

 

“No, but you’re a painter. You can figure it out, can’t you?”

 

It takes a trip to the grocery store (and a detour for Granny’s grilled cheese) to get piping bags and more decorating tools, and another three hours later, her kitchen countertops are all filled with highly festive Christmas cookies. She may have gone a little overboard and made hers look like something you see in stores while her rejects and Killian’s look more akin to something a child would make, smeared icing and mixed colors that make what’s supposed to be a white angel look more like a greenish-gray blob.

 

If she puts a side by side comparison of their decorating skills on Instagram, no one has to know.

 

Okay, so all of her followers have to know. She’s pretty dang proud of her cookies.

 

And a little bit proud of Killian’s, too.

 

“You know,” Killian muses as he takes a bite of that very same greenish-gray blob of a cookie, the two of them sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets with her jeans completely covered in flour, “just because something is ugly on the outside, doesn’t mean it tastes bad on the inside.”

 

“Is that supposed to be philosophical?”

 

“It’s supposed to a point about how my cookies taste just as good as yours.”

 

“That’s what she said,” Emma mumbles under her breath before reaching up on the counter only to pull down one of Killian’s cookies. This one is definitely very green and very much a Christmas tree. The ornaments on it, however, are a different story. At least she thinks they’re ornaments.

 

“Darling, you know I love a good innuendo,” he purrs, his voice lowering so that she has no choice but to look over at him only to see his dark brows dancing across his face while his lips twitch, “but you and I both know that we would not have the same type of cookies. You’d likely be a ginger cookie, sweet but a little snappy, while I’d be more like a yule log.”

 

“A yule…” she slaps his chest again as laughter bubbles inside of her own. He’s an idiot, but he’s a damn good friend. “You’re such a weirdo. An inappropriate weirdo.”

 

“Aye, that I am. I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the cookie-baking team.”

 

“Why would that upset me?”

 

“Well, maybe because you enjoyed your time partaking in a cheesy Christmas tradition.”

 

She did, but she’s not going to admit that to Killian. At least not yet. He’d be far too smug for his own good if she told him that, so she simply shrugs. “Keep thinking that, Jones.”

 

He helps her package all of the cookies up, and she doesn’t fail to notice when he puts some of the more neatly decorated ones in his Tupperware container instead of simply taking the ones he decorated himself, the thief.

 

It’s not How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

 

It’s How Killian Stole the Christmas Cookies.

 

Okay, okay, so maybe she’s as bad at naming movies as the people in charge of the Hallmark channel are as well.

 

Eventually Killian has to leave, citing her dad making him work the night shift tonight, and she sends him off with his travel mug of coffee (one sugar with the _tiniest_ bit of milk) and his container full of cookies. He’s still teasing and taunting her, telling her to just admit that she had a good time this afternoon, but she won’t simply because Killian wants her to. Then, right as he’s about to step out the door – and not the fire escape – he reaches forward and swipes his pointer finger over her lips, the sensation causing her cheeks to tingle.

 

“You’ve a bit of icing on the corner of your lips, love,” he explains, and when the man licks the finger with the offending icing, his tongue flickering out as he hums, her stomach starts to flutter, the pinpricks matching the ones in her cheeks.

 

She doesn’t know what’s happening, what this unfamiliar sensation is, but she doesn’t like it.

 

“You and icing, Nolan, a batch made in heaven.”

 

And then Killian walks out of her front door, leaving her, but those pinpricks still remain.

 

* * *

 

Emma thinks that the cookie incident is going to be a one-time thing, that she and Killian are going to go back to normal and just drink beer and eat pizza while binging Netflix shows far into the early hours of the morning when Killian doesn’t have to work the next day. But no, he sticks to this whole little scheme of making her enjoy the very things she complained about at the bar.

 

That’ll be last time she ever spills her guts to Killian Jones…okay, so she knows that’s not true.

 

 During the first week of December, they go shopping for decorations for her apartment, Killian loading up the shopping cart with red, white, green, and patterned ornaments as well as several boxes of colored lights.

 

“I don’t have enough space for all of these lights.”

 

“Trust me, love. You’re going to have space.”

 

“I don’t have a tree for any of this either.”

 

He winks. “We’re getting there.”

 

After her apartment looks like some kind of winter wonderland – well, one that’s still packaged up – with various Christmas scented candles, including her personal favorite Mountain Lodge. She doesn’t know what it is about it, but when it’s lit, the wick gently flickering and the scent permeating throughout her apartment, it makes her feel like she’s wrapped up in something comforting, like her father’s hug or one of Killian’s sweatshirts from the police academy, the frayed edges falling across her thighs. It’s ridiculous, but her life is nothing but ridiculous at this point.

 

Killian drags her to a Christmas tree farm, one filled with evergreen Douglas Firs and Blue Spruces. There’s apparently a few other kinds, but she can’t remember the names of them now. She didn’t even know the first two until Killian told her. She just kind of thought they were all Christmas trees, not really realizing there were so many different…breeds. Is breeds the right words for Christmas trees? Is it the same as dogs? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

 

Okay, so it apparently matters to Killian.

 

Snow hasn’t quite hit Storybrooke yet, surprisingly enough. The white powder is usually coating the town at this point of December, usually even during November if the stars align, but there’s only the slightest dusting of snow, more like ice than anything else, causing the air to be brisk enough for the need to be wrapped up in warm clothes to go outside. So she and Killian trudge through the rows of trees, passing families all bundled up in their puffy jackets and knit hats, little pom poms bouncing of their heads that likely match the one on Emma’s beanie. Emma may be the so-called Grinch of Christmas (which, so not true, Mom), but at least she dresses festively (and practically). They’re picking out a Christmas tree, and Killian is in his normal head to toe black, the only concession he’s making to his red and gray plaid shirt, unbuttoned of course, because God forbid Killian cover up his chest hair.

 

“Aren’t you cold?” she ponders as the trees start to get taller, almost to the point of what she knows is her ceiling’s capacity.

 

“I’m from London, darling,” he concedes, running his hands along the green limbs, little bristles falling with each of his touches, “this Maine weather is nothing.”

 

“First of all, you haven’t lived in London for twenty-three years. Second of all, you’re a liar. The tips of your ears are red.” She stands on her toes to grab at his ears, wiggling them, and they’re like ice underneath her touch. “Where’s your beanie?”

 

“In my coat pocket.”

 

She presses down on her feet, the dried grass crunching underneath the heels of her boots before she reaches into his pocket and pulls the gray knit hat out, the material soft against her fingertips. It only takes her a moment to press up onto her toes again and pull the beanie over Killian’s hair, making sure that his ears are covered before pulling back and patting him on the shoulders.

 

“There. Now you won’t lose your ears to the cold.”

 

He smiles at her, a small little closed lipped thing that causes his eyes to crinkle and her breath to unexpectedly catch, the white puffs not passing through her lips for a moment. “I’m made of tougher material than that, Emma Nolan. Not all of us have to be bundled like we’re in the arctic.” He reaches over to pull at the fuzzy ball at the top of her hat, tugging it before patting her head like she’s some kind of child, and all of the pent-up breath releases in an exasperated sigh. “Let’s go get you a tree.”

 

It takes several hours, a shocking amount of cursing passing through Killian’s lips, help from Leroy, who apparently works at the tree farm and Belle – the poor woman passing them as they tried to get the tree into the entrance to the apartment – but they do eventually get the tree inside, positioning it in the small space next to her bay window. They’d had to move her furniture around, making everything cramped, and cut off a little of the tree, but now she’s got a fully decorated Christmas tree lighting up her apartment, making everything glow in the reflection of the multi-colored lights.

 

Sighing, she flops down onto the couch, propping her feet up in Killian’s lap while his are propped up on the coffee table.

 

“So, Jones, why didn’t we get one of those for you too since you’re the great holiday elf?”

 

He’s messing with her socked toes, the mismatched polka dots and stripes bright against Killian’s dark jeans. “Figured I didn’t need one.”

 

“Why the hell not? I thought we were experiencing all of the magic of Christmas.”

 

“Aye, love,” he squeezes her foot before resting his head on the back of the couch and smirking, “but I’m over here more often than I’m downstairs. Figured there wasn’t a need for two. Plus, what fun would it be getting the tree into my flat when we had to walk it up four floors for you?”

 

“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re trying to torture me with all of these activities?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

The next week Killian is busy at the station while she seeks out last minute commissions for Christmas gifts, walking around town and asking everyone she knows if they’d like Christmas cards, personalized stationary, any paintings for gifts. Storybrooke is a small town, one of those places where you know almost everyone, and it’s likely the only reason she doesn’t have to pick up a regular job, though she will occasionally fill in for Ruby at the diner. By the end of her first day seeking out extra jobs, she had enough to keep her busy for the week – or the entire month though she doesn’t have that long to work on them – and for her rent to be paid with enough left over for Christmas gifts.

 

The week isn’t filled with as many Christmas activities, and Emma wonders if maybe Killian will calm down on his quest and realize that he doesn’t need to be doing all of this just because she was frustrated with her mom and the Hallmark channel on one night.

 

On Thursday night she’s just snuggling under her comforter, the fluffy white blanket keeping her warm as the temperature continually drops to almost unbearable levels. As soon as she boots up her laptop, scrolling through emails to look for discounts to buy her mom some new sweaters, she hears her front door slam. Her body tenses, self-defense mechanisms kicking in, and just as she starts to throw the covers off of her legs, Killian comes barging into her bedroom, his cheeks red and his chest heaving.

 

“What the hell?” She tosses her pillow at him, her own chest heaving as she tries to regulate her breathing. “Why are you barging in like that?”

 

“It’s snowing.”

 

“And?”

 

He doesn’t answer, instead rifling through her closet and throwing sweaters at her along with some of her sweatpants, before moving through her drawers, only hesitating when he gets to her underwear drawer and turns to look at her.

 

“Nolan, you have a hell of a lot of red lace in here.”

 

“Shut up. Why are you even looking in there?”

 

“I’m looking for the socks that go with your wellies.”

 

“Bottom drawer.”

 

He closes away her underwear drawer (her face is now undoubtedly as red as that lace) before rifling through the bottom drawer to find her socks and tossing those at her as well.

 

“Get dressed, love. We’re going on an adventure.”

 

“Are you bringing snacks?”

 

He rolls his eyes before putting his hands on his hips and tiling his head to the side while he stares at her. “I’m not an idiot. I dare not force you out into the cold without providing you with food.”

 

“Good.”

 

She and Killian make their way to the docks, passing all of the boats ( _“some are ships, love”)_ only to climb the stairs of the lighthouse, her legs burning and her breath heavy by the time they reach the top. When Killian nudges open the door, having to push his shoulder against it while she pushes to get the rusty hinges open, she’s suddenly hit by a rush of chilled air and a view that she’s never seen before.

 

Storybrooke looks enchanting, the roofs covered in white with red and green lights reflecting off the streets, the snow only making it brighter. She can see a few people milling around the Rabbit Hole, the neon lights reflecting off the snow from it glaringly obvious compared to the Christmas lights adorning the roofs of the neighbors. She wonders if Liam is working tonight. She’s sure that he is, and that Graham will most definitely get a call for drunk and disorderly conduct. She might not work at the police station, but between her dad and Killian, plus days working there as a teenager, she may as well be a deputy. Everything else is closed down, Storybrooke not a place to stay up past midnight, and she thinks that she’ll have to come back to look at it all when some lights from the houses are turned on so that parts of the town don’t seem blacked out.

 

Twisting her body, she looks out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the snow-covered sand that matches the crests of waves that are slowly rolling in. There’s not a soul to be seen walking along the shore, a place riddled with more memories than she can count – some she’d care to remember while others she wishes would wash away and sink into the depths of the ocean – so the snow and sand remain untouched, like a perfect white blanket next to the deep blue of the water. There’s one ship near the horizon, the lights from it making it visible to her eyes, and her heart constricts looking at the sheer beauty of Storybrooke from above. She’s lived here for the entirety of her life, minus the one year she moved to New York because she needed to get away until Killian brought her home, but she’s never seen her home look quite like this.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“It is,” Killian agrees before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in closer so that his warmth envelops her, but an unexpected shiver still runs through her, her entire body lightly convulsing so that Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder and his chin rubs against the top of her head.

 

“How did you know to look up here?”

 

“Simple. It’s the highest point in town, and I knew that you’d like the landscape view.”

 

She hums before pulling herself further into Killian and resting her head against his shoulder. He’s warm, and it’s freezing out. She loves the snow, loves the way it looks, but it’s cold and wet, often turning into mud and causing more issues than it causes beauty.

 

“So you said something about snacks?”

 

He rustles around in his coat pocket with his free hand until a foil package is placed in her eyeline, what’s obviously grilled cheese now obstructing her view of the town.

 

Or possibly making it better.

 

“God,” she groans, just thinking about how good that’s going to be even without being hot, “you’re the best.”

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

They stay up at the lighthouse for a few more minutes before a chill wracks her body and she can’t be outside for much longer before she freezes to death. Killian’s body heat helps, but it’s not exactly enough, so she has to beg him to go home. Walking down the lighthouse steps is a hell of a lot easier than walking up, but by the time they’re at the apartment and she sees the staircase leading up to her apartment, she doesn’t think her legs can carry her any longer.

 

“I’m not doing it,” she whines, sitting down on the bottom set of stairs while Killian takes two at a time and is already at the first landing.

 

“You’re being pathetic.”

 

“I’m tired. I went running this morning, and then you made me climb so many stairs. It was _so many_ stairs, Killian.”

 

Killian bounds down the stairs, his footsteps heavy until he’s squatting down in front of her, this stupid annoying look on his face while his eyebrows dance across his forehead. “Do you need me to carry you?”

 

“Would you really do that?”

 

She normally wouldn’t do this, but her legs feel like they’re on fire and about to turn into very heavy weights. Plus, she doesn’t think Killian will actually do it.

 

“Up to my apartment, but that’s it.”

 

Oh, so he will do it. She’s so distracted by that fact that Killian’s about to carry her up the stairs so that her next words slip out without her thinking. “Fine then. I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

 

“Well, love,” Killian grunts, pulling her up off the stairs before hooking his hands under thighs and picking her up like she weighs nothing, “I’ve been waiting for that for years.”

 

“Shut up, you goofball. I meant I’m just going to crash at your place.”

 

“I know, I know.” He takes the first few steps before loosening his grip around her so that she almost falls, her shriek so loud that she probably woke the neighbors, before wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard that she’s probably choking him. He deserves it for making her think she was going to fall.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“You have to lay off the cookies. Couldn’t hold you up.”

 

“Yeah, well, when we get in trouble for waking up the neighbors for being too loud, I’m blaming it on you.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

 

He’s _absolutely_ impossible, and she’s _absolutely_ not going to dignify that with a response. He’s being cheeky, and all she wants to do is go to bed. So he continues to carry her upstairs, this whole charade ridiculous, and after unlocking his door, he walks her inside and drops her onto his mattress, the springs moving underneath her. She doesn’t bother getting up, shucking her boots and socks while Killian ruffles through his drawers and throws her a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt while he heads into his bathroom to change clothes.

 

This is a routine they’ve done one too many times for her apartment to be upstairs, and after she’s changed her clothes and brushes her teeth with her toothbrush, she settles underneath Killian’s comforter, pulling the blankets around her body and keeping them to herself even as Killian slides onto the other side of the mattress, only tugging over the slightest bit his comforter.

 

She knows he’s not asleep by the way that his breathing is irregular, so she turns on her side, rolling a bit closer to the middle and throwing some more of the comforter this way.

 

“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”

 

“Me too, darling. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry that I’ve made your legs useless.”

 

She chuckles into her pillow before stretching out of leg and running her foot against Killian’s calves, making him yelp before rolling away from her and off the bed.

 

“What was that for? Why are you an icicle? You just made me scream at bloody two in the morning.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all of you and to Melanie! I hope you guys all have wonderful days and like the conclusion here :D

It’s the week before Christmas, and she thinks that Killian can’t possibly come up with anymore Christmas activities for them to partake in. During the last week alone she’s built several snowmen, had an actual, legitimate snowball fight (which is more painful than one would think), gone Christmas caroling (something she very deeply wants to forget), volunteered with the children’s shelter to make gift boxes for the kids, gone ice skating (she busted her ass and, ironically, Killian had to help her ice her ass…from how she injured it on the _ice_ ), and made fudge with Killian and her mother (it had been adventure that she’s sure she’ll never forget – Killian and her mom wore matching Mr. and Mrs. Claus aprons for the hours that it took to make the homemade fudge).

 

And now she’s lying on her parents’ couch stringing popcorn garland because her mom wants to decorate a tree at the police station. She hadn’t even questioned helping, jumping in and volunteering to lend a hand as soon as her mom idly mentioned it when they talked on the phone yesterday. She’d finally questioned it earlier when the popcorn kept breaking.

 

“I told you that you’d eventually get the hang of that, Emma.”

 

“It’s not my fault the popcorn kept crumbling, and I kept stabbing my finger with the needle.”

 

“That’s entirely your fault,” Mary Margaret chuckles before dropping another bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and Emma throws her head back against the arm rest as she groans at the thought of having to do more. “You’ve got three more bowls to go.”

 

“I really don’t think the guys at the station are going to care if there’s popcorn garland up or not. The only one who will possibly notice is Killian, and that’s because he’s the most detail-oriented man alive.”

 

Her mom squeaks, actually squeaks, and when Emma looks over to her, it’s like her entire body is held up in anticipation of something, her cheeks flushed pink while she bites her bottom lip and bounces up and down on her toes.

 

“What, mom?”

 

“ _AreyouandKilliandating_?”

 

That…that wasn’t English.

 

“Those aren’t words. You’ve got to try again.”

 

“Are you and Killian dating?”

 

The words come out of her mom’s mouth at the same moment that Emma needles another piece of popcorn, and she yelps when she pricks, more likely slashes, her thumb, the pain causing her hand to sting while the blood starts dripping on her sweater…her favorite white cable knit sweater.

 

“Shit. That stings.” She sucks her thumb into her mouth, iron coating her taste buds, and by the time the sting begins to fade, she looks up to see her mother still bouncing on her toes.

 

“So, are you and Killian dating?”

 

“No,” she answers immediately, her heart rate taking off while her cheeks flush, a deep red compared to the pink of her mother’s. Dating Killian? That’s ridiculous. Why would her mother think that she’s dating Killian? “Why would you think that?”

 

The bouncing stops and her mother stills, sitting down on the arm of her dad’s favorite recliner and settling her hands in her lap over her crossed legs, the red of her pants matching the ornaments of the Christmas tree behind her and Emma’s cheeks.

 

“Really? You’re not?”

 

Is her mother…disappointed? She glances at her mother’s face, the way her eyes are widened and her lips are downturned. Emma swears there might be tears somewhere, but she knows she has to be imagining that. Yeah, her mom is always on her case about dating someone, but crying is a little ridiculous.

 

“We’re not dating. That’s never crossed either of our minds, I assure you. We’re just friends.”

 

Her mom laughs, something hearty and full, almost how one would imagine Santa Claus laughs. Has her mother lost her mind? Is she having some sort of Christmas breakdown? Emma’s just about to get up from her position on the couch to check on her mom when Mary Margaret stops laughing and a soft smile forms on her lips, the pale pink lipstick prominent against the creaminess of her skin.

 

“There’s a look that a man gets when he’s smitten with a woman, and Killian had that look all last week. Goodness, he’s had it for years, but you never really had the same kind of yearning, doe eyes. But then when we were making the fudge, you two were so affectionate with each other, teasing touches and little inside jokes about all of the things you guys have been doing lately. I just – well, I thought there was something there. Love maybe.”

 

Wow, is she glad that she put the needle down because everything her mother said is just…ridiculous. And then she had to go and say there was love between them. Love? There’s no way in hell.

 

Is there?

 

“M-mom,” she stutters, ripping a throw pillow out from under her and covering her face with it, “that’s ridiculous. He’s a friend, and you’re doing that meddling thing again. Also, I don’t yearn.”

 

“I just want you to be happy. I saw Neal the other day and – ”

 

Emma lowers the pillow from her face before cuddling it over her stomach and squinting her eyes toward Mary Margaret, silently warning her to be careful with her next words.

 

“ – and I didn’t even think about mentioning it to you because I couldn’t help but think about Killian. I think he would be perfect for you. I don’t know how I never _really_ saw it before when I’m usually so good at these things. Your dad would probably blow a gasket, but he’ll get over it when he sees how much – ”

 

“Mom,” she interrupts, not daring to let the next words come out of her mother’s mouth, “you’re getting ahead of yourself again. We’re not dating.”

 

“I know, I know. But a mother can hope for the best for her daughter. You’ll understand that one day.”

 

Her mother’s words follow her for the rest of the day, but she quickly puts them away before she falls asleep that night. While she knows that it’s not the most ridiculous notion for she and Killian to be dating, it’s just not something that’s going to happen. There are…moments, but it’s never been anything more than a friendship between them since then were young. It’s always been she and Killian, best mates as he’d say, and she’s not sure that she wants something else. And if she did, she’s not sure that she’s ready for it.

 

* * *

 

Storybrooke’s annual Winterfest is put on every year, her mother usually heading the event with the mayor, and it’s always been something that she’s attended, had a wonderful time at, and then gone home and not thought about until it came around next year. This year, however, with the fact that Killian’s Christmas quest is somehow still going on, she is celebrating the festival to its fullest, making sure that her Christmas week is as festive as possible.

 

Or at least so she’s been told. She hasn’t left her apartment yet because she’s under very strict instructions not to leave until Killian picks her up at her apartment at five.

 

She kind of wants to shove his festive spirit up his…well, never mind. That wouldn’t be very festive, and she’s been good about all of this. She’s actually enjoyed most of it.

 

It’s four fifty-eight now, and she’s sitting on the edge of her sofa with her toes pressed against the carpeted floor ready to open the door as soon as Killian knocks on it. He’s never late, always exactly on time if not early, so when the time on her phone changes to four fifty-nine, her leg starts bouncing up and down, shaking the couch and the floor, a roll of wrapping paper rolling across the floor and distracting her until she hears Killian’s signature knock – three loud hits against the wood.

 

She practically springs off the couch, unlocking the latch and swinging the door open so quickly that it hits against the side table where she keeps her keys and purse, the wood wobbling with the force. She grimaces at that, hoping nothing breaks, before looking to the man standing outside her doorway with his hands behind his back and a mischievous smile on his lips. Her breath hitches when she finally sees him, her eyes tracing the way that his jeans hug his thighs and his sweater highlights the muscles in his arms, and her face heats. Is she…is she blushing?

 

Is she attracted to Killian? That’s…ridiculous.

 

“Hello, love. You alright there?”

 

“I – uh, yeah,” she stutters, shaking her head and blinking to tear her gaze away from his arms only to note that he still hasn’t moved his hands. “Why are your hands behind your back?”

 

His smile widens, the lines around his eyes crinkling, before he winks at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know, love?”

 

“Um, yeah, I would,” she answers before taking a step forward and reaching around to try to grab onto his wrist only for Killian to turn and keep her from getting whatever he’s holding. “K-Killian,” she laughs, making an even bigger answer to grab onto it only for Killian to stuff whatever it is in his back pocket and grab onto her wrists, holding them in the air and tugging her forward until they stand almost eye to eye, their lips a hairsbreadth apart and breaths intermingling. If she were to step forward and press up on her toes, she could kiss him.

 

Woah. Where did that thought come from?

 

She has to look away, her shoes suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, until Killian releases her left hand only to thumb at her chin and pull her gaze up to meet his, his eyes startlingly blue and his lashes unfairly thick as they flutter against his cheek.

 

“Are you okay, darling?”

 

“I’m fine,” she lies while her heart does some kind of weird rhythmic dance within her chest, “I just wasn’t expected to have a hallway wrestling match to find out whatever your surprise is.”

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to put up such a fight.”

 

She rolls her eyes, and her heart starts to settle, the sarcasm bringing her back to a sense of normalcy. “Do you even know me?”

 

“Every part of you, Emma.”

 

Well, shit. There goes her heart again, and she has to force herself to keep her breathing at a normal pace. What is happening to her?

 

“Can I…can I see what you’re hiding in your back pocket?”

 

Killian gasps, releasing her other wrist so that he can press his palm against his chest, his lips parted in disgust. “Nolan, you have to court a man before you can see what’s in his back pocket. I am a gentleman, and I can’t let women just feel the goods.”

 

A snort escapes her lips before she can help it, and without thinking, she rests her forehead against Killian’s shoulder and laughs into the material of his sweater while he pats her back.

 

“Since when are you a gentleman?”

 

“I’m always a gentleman, but I’m going to let you see what’s in my back pocket regardless.”

 

Pulling back, she sees him yank out a pair of tickets, the white paper flopping in his hands.

 

“What are those for?”

 

He holds up three fingers. “Three words, love. Unlimited hot chocolate.”

 

“From Granny’s?”

 

“Of course.”

 

The two of them walk from their apartment building to the streets of downtown, people already milling among the different booths set up around the oversized Christmas tree in the middle of the street, likely blocking the entrance to the only clothing shop in town that carries something other than novelty sailing tee shirts. This happens every year, the streets of downtown being blocked out for the festival so that you have to take major detours if you need to drive somewhere, but no one seems to mind as long as Winterfest and the tree lighting ceremony happen.

 

The sun is already beginning to set, an orange blanket of colors cast over the snowy rooftops, and white fairy lights are strung between the buildings, coating the place in a glow unlike any other. It’s beautiful, romantic even, and an uneasy feeling starts to settle in her stomach thinking about how long it’s been since she experienced any romance of her own. It only increases when Killian wraps his arm around her shoulder as they inch closer into the heart of the festival, edging their way through the crowd, and all she can think about is that she almost kissed him earlier.

 

She _wanted_ to kiss him earlier.

 

That’s never happened before, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

 

She almost kissed her best friend, and every part of her wanted to. She’s attracted to Killian, not just in a physical way, and the thought stops her in her tracks, her body stalling in the snow while Killian’s arm tries to pull her along. But her heels are digging into the snow, and she may as well have been run over by a truck for how she’s feeling. Or Santa’s sleigh if she’s going to be festive about it.

 

Oh holy night indeed.

 

_Holy shit_. She means oh holy shit.

 

“You alright there, Nolan?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she lies, attempting a smile. She knows that Killian doesn’t believe her smile by the way that he quirks his eyebrow at her, but he’s apparently going to let her live with it, tightening his grip on her shoulder and kissing her forehead before guiding her through the crowd. She still feels his lips on her skin minutes later, and she wonders if she’s been burned.

 

She needs to be hit with a snowball or something so that some sense can be knocked into her and so that she can cool down.

 

Her dad finds them before anyone else does, stopping to ask Killian to make sure he pays attention to what’s going on even if he’s not on duty.

 

“Dad, it’s Storybrooke. Things will be fine. Let Killian have fun.”

 

“Honey, just because you want him all to yourself doesn’t mean that I’m going to just let him completely free.”  
  


“That’s what off duty means.” Her dad places his hands on his hips, very obviously flashing his badge at his hip, and she can’t help but laugh before reaching up on her toes and kissing his cheek. “Nolan and Jones will be on the lookout for any criminal activity. I hear someone might hit the church’s bake sale for some of mom’s ginger snaps.”

 

“Shouldn’t you have a booth here selling your art, Missy?”

 

Killian snorts behind her. “Did you just call Emma missy? You should know her better than that, Dave. Even I know not to say something like that.”

 

“Yeah, well according to my wife no one knows her better than you.”

 

“What?”

 

Her dad opens his mouth before looking at and she shakes her head from side to side as much as she can without making it obvious, her eyes practically pleading for him to shut up. Her mom may not be able to keep her mouth shut, but her dad can, the smile on his face disappearing when he gets her meaning.

 

“Nothing,” David lies, clapping Killian on the shoulder and moving to kiss her forehead. “You kids have fun. But be alert, deputy.”

 

“Aye. You have fun as well, Dave. I’ll try to get this one home by ten.”

 

“Yeah, that didn’t even happen when she lived with us. It’s sure as hell not happening now but nice try.”

 

Her dad walks away and she turns so that Killian’s arm falls off her shoulders, feeling the loss of heat almost immediately. “You two have the weirdest relationship.”

 

“What can I say? Parents love me.”

 

They move throughout the festival, perusing the different booths where people are selling homemade goods along with those rigged games like a ring toss or darts with blunted darts – Granny and her sharp as a knife darts would be appalled if she knew. Storybrooke’s never been the most technologically advanced town, almost like it’s permanently living in decades of the past. She swears that there’s a computer in the library that you can pay to use with dimes and a usable payphone outside the police station. She knows that payphones are still a thing that people use sometimes, but there have been times when she’s walking down the street and someone will yell out that she has a call…and she will. Someone will call her on the payphone instead of her cell. But that’s just one of the quirks of Storybrooke.

 

She hasn’t quite figured out what she’s going to get Killian for Christmas, and while she doesn’t think she’s going to find it among homemade candles that smell a little bit like steaks (she doesn’t even know how that’s possible) or the friendship bracelets that Robin’s son is selling – though she does buy one just because the kid is so dang cute. It’s also a little difficult to try to find anything when Killian is at her side the entire time. She’s not complaining…okay, maybe she is a little. She still can’t stop thinking about earlier, and every time Killian’s skin brushes against hers, she feels like she may as well be burning alive.

 

And then freezing in the cold because it’s so damn cold out here.

 

“Do you want a hot chocolate, love?” Killian questions when Granny’s comes into sight, a clear path to it laid out in front of her.

 

“Yeah, I can go get them, though. Why don’t you go talk to Will?”

 

“You sure?”

 

She waves him away before he digs the tickets out of his jacket and hands them to her. It’s so sweet that he got them, but Ruby’s been slipping her free hot chocolate for years. She should probably back pay for some of that now that she thinks about it.

 

The chime goes off as she walks through the door of Granny’s, the place surprisingly deserted since they have better food in here than they would at any booth at the festival. She doesn’t see Ruby or Granny, so she walks up to the counter and rings the bell, knowing it’ll bring Ruby out just so that she can yell at whoever rang it.

 

She really hates that bell.

 

“Alright, alright, who the – well, hi, Ems.”

 

“You yell at all of your customers that way? That’s probably why it’s so empty in here.”

 

“It’s empty in here because everyone is outside with their loved ones.” Ruby’s eyes shoot around the diner before coming up to lean over the counter, her bare stomach hitting the tile. How is she not absolutely freezing? “Speaking of, where’s your loved one?”

 

“Mom and dad are being mom and dad and going around charming everyone. Why?”

 

“Wasn’t talking about them.”

 

“Then who were you – oh, Rubes, no.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“Ruby.”

 

Ruby simply stares at her, and suddenly the freezing cold is preferable to this.

 

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, resigning herself to this. If she can’t talk to Killian about, well, Killian, she can sure as hell talk to Ruby. “So I think Killian and I almost kissed tonight.”

 

“Almost?”

 

“Yeah, like there was a moment where we just kind of stared at each other and all I had to do was press up on my toes and we’d be kissing. So it wasn’t really an almost kiss, but it could have been.”

 

“Wait. Do you want to be kissing Killian? Is Emma Nolan, the author of the book Killian Jones and I Are Just Friends, admitting to wanting to kiss Killian Jones?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders, unable to do anything but awkwardly smile.

 

“Shit,” Ruby slaps the counter, a wolfish grin spreading across her face, “you do. You like him.”

 

Emma waves her down, looking around to see if anyone is paying any attention to she and Ruby’s conversation. Luckily, everyone is minding their own business eating their food or drinking their coffee. But that doesn’t mean they’re not listening.

 

“Shhh, you’re being too loud.”

 

“Please, like anyone in here will care.”

 

This time it’s Emma who stares at Ruby.

 

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll whisper. So you like Killian?”

 

“I think I like Killian.”

 

It’s the first time she’s said the words out loud, and they feel almost foreign on her tongue. But hearing it, well, it confirms the thought. She likes Killian.

 

She’s also so, so screwed.

 

“Are you gonna tell him?”

 

“God, no. Why would I?”

 

“Oh, dear. When was the last time you dated? When you like someone, you tell them. That’s how you get to the talking and the kissing and the wonderful, beautiful, glorious sex.”

 

Suddenly she has a vision of she and Killian sleeping together, and wow is that not something she ever imagined she’d be…imagining. What the hell is happening?

 

“Ruby, listen to me.” She leans over the counter and gets right in Ruby’s face only for Ruby to back up and cross her arms over her chest and quirk her red lips. “Killian can never know we had this conversation. This is a secret between us.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because do you know how embarrassing that would be for him to know that I like him? God, I sound like I’m a teenager. He can’t know.”

 

“Oh honey, sweetheart, Christmas tree farm.”

 

“Christmas tree farm?”

 

“Yeah, just go with it.” Ruby just waves her away, shaking her head and smiling. “Killian has been head over heels in love with you since we were in middle school. Whatever scandalous activities you were just dreaming up, he’s been dreaming those for years. And not in a gross way but in a _I want to make love to my darling Emma_ way and then marry her and sire lots of the prettiest babies in the world.”

 

Ruby has obviously been sneaking glasses of eggnog because she’s lost it.

 

“Killian doesn’t love me. That’s ridiculous.”

 

“He does, and it’s not.”

 

The bell above the door rings, and she turns to see Killian walking in, his cheeks flushed from the cold and a broad smile stretched across his face as he shakes the snow out of his hair. So much remains that he looks like he’s got salt and peppered hair, and he continues to brush it out of his hair as he walks toward her. The closer he gets, the faster her heart beats and the more her cheeks heat. What the hell is happening to her?

 

She likes Killian.

 

Killian may love – like her.

 

Oh honey, sweetheart, Christmas tree farm indeed.

 

“Love,” Ruby whispers as she places the hot chocolate Emma most definitely never got around to ordering before adding, “yes, you did say that out loud. You’re screwed, Christmas tree farm.”

 

“Who screwed on a Christmas tree farm?”

 

“No one,” Emma practically shouts, her voice high pitched and unnatural. She leans against the counter, trying to contain her racing heart when her elbow hits against the to-go cups and knocks them over, the hot beverages falling to the floor and splashing all over Killian’s boots. “Shit. I’m sorry,” she mumbles before grabbing some napkins from the dispenser and getting down onto the floor, wiping up at Killian’s feet and the floor all while Ruby and Killian fuss at her to get up off the ground.

 

“Darling,” Killian coos, squatting down, his feet dragging through the hot chocolate before his hand lands on hers, the heat of it hotter than the melted chocolate, “stop, stop. It’s fine. It was just an accident.”

 

“I know, I know. I was just…” she finally stops wiping at his feet to look up at him, the blue of his eyes almost taking her breath away. She’s lost it. Absolutely lost it. “…I don’t know what I was doing. I’m just a klutz I guess.”

 

“Well, you’ve always been that way, love. I’m just glad you spilled it on my boots. I’d rather them be ruined than other parts of me.”

 

“Oh shit. Your boots. Those are your favorite I’m sorry – ” Killian’s hand clamps over her mouth while he flashes her a grin “ – I’m going to stop apologizing now and totally ignore your joke.”

 

“I think that’s a good plan.”

 

Killian helps her up before grabbing the spilled cups, asking Ruby if he can go get the mop from the storage room to clear up her spill. When he takes a step away, Ruby’s practically on top of her, eyebrows raised so high they’re in her hairline.

 

“What the hell is happening to you?”

 

“I’m freaking out, Ruby. Freaking. Out.”

 

“You have to calm down before you melt all of the snow with your hot chocolate spillage.”

 

“How am I supposed to calm down?”

 

“It’s just Killian. It’s just you and Killian. That’s how it’s always been. Nothing has changed.”

 

“Literally everything has changed.”

 

“You’re dramatic.”

 

Killian comes back from the storage closet with the mop, cleaning up her mess while Ruby gets them two more drinks. She’s…useless. She can’t – she doesn’t know what to do. This is all insane, and she feels like her intestines are tied together with a gingerbread house crushing them. There’s also something lodged in her throat, and she’s not sure the hot chocolate will go down anyways.

 

By the time they make it outside, the sun has completely set and the string lights above the festival shine against the black of the sky. Her breath comes out in white puffs in front of her, and she’d be freezing if her mind weren’t running rampant, her body constantly heating herself up. Killian is far too close, his skin constantly brushing against hers even with all of the layers of clothes between them. His casual affection has never been an issue before, and she’s usually returned it. But right now, walking next to him, it’s killing her.

 

She. Has. To. Calm. Down.

 

The tree lighting ceremony starts in ten minutes, and when she tells Killian that, she can’t believe how much her life sounds like a Hallmark movie. And then Leroy (how does he have so many jobs in one town?) comes running into the square saying that he’s offering a hay ride around the circle with the trailer from the Christmas tree farm. She doesn’t think anything of it, figuring she’s simply going to settle down next to her parents and watch, but then Killian grabs her hand, his fingers wrapping around her palm, and practically drags her over, guiding her up onto the trailer and over to the bed of Leroy’s truck while everyone else settles into the trailer.

 

“Are you sure we can be up here?”

 

“Of course. Leroy owes me about a million favors, and I’m cashing one in so we’re not pulling hay from our hair and our asses like the rest of Storybrooke.”

 

“Well, aren’t you special?”

 

He taps his shoulder into hers before smiling down at her, and she almost forgets the turmoil her heart is going through.

 

Almost.

 

The hay ride is…interesting. She’s pretty sure that Leroy should not be driving this many people around, but he’s just going in circles, nearly taking out the weird steak-scented candle booth nearly every time, but he stops just as they plug the tree in, lighting up the entire town with white and red lights. Everyone claps, and she rolls her eyes, years of thinking this was all cheesy not just fading away because of Killian’s little Christmas quest.

 

She thinks Killian’s Christmas quest is kind of cheesy, too.

 

But she loves it.

 

She’s also starting to realize that she might love him. All of her thoughts have been jumbled around tonight…and maybe a little before tonight. But that keeps coming back to her. She has no idea how the hell she went from Killian being a friend to her having feelings for Killian to those feelings being love, but she thinks it’s somewhere between being five years old and the last month and a half.

 

Yeah, there may be no one who screwed on a Christmas tree farm, but Emma is most definitely screwed while watching a Christmas tree lighting.

 

And she doesn’t know if it’s in the good way.

 

* * *

 

The day after the festival she avoids Killian. It’s easy because he’s working a double shift, giving her dad the day off since he worked the festival, and when he calls and asks if she wants to come to his apartment for dinner, she lies and says she got a last minute Christmas print order. The next day is a little more difficult because she runs into him on the staircase on his way to work and on her way to deliver some of the actual last minute paintings and cards she finished a few days ago. So they talk like they always do, even if her mind is completely and totally distracted…because of Killian. She can’t focus on Killian because she’s thinking about Killian.

 

Is this some kind of Christmas inception?

 

On day three of Emma’s Christmas Quest to Avoid Killian, she legitimately climbs the lighthouse to get away, bundling up and bringing her camera so that she can take some pictures of the view. She doesn’t know how she’s never thought about this before. It’s beautiful up here, even if it does remind her so much of Killian, and the artist inside of her wants to document it. She also knows that with the way the snow tops the buildings, she can likely convince the mayor to use it on brochures and postcards. It’s a small town, but during the summer, they have tourists galore, families who gobble up all of the goods down at the Beach Shack.

 

As much as she tries to focus on the view, listening to the waves crash down below and ship horns blow, she can’t really focus on anything but the words that keep repeating in her head.

 

She loves Killian.

 

She loves Killian Jones.

 

Emma Nolan loves Killian Jones.

 

She may as well be writing it in her notebook in middle school with their initials inside little hearts. This is ridiculous, just absolutely ridiculous. She’s in love with her best friend and…

 

Her life is a Hallmark movie.

 

Her life is a damn Hallmark movie.

 

And she doesn’t hate it.

 

This isn’t another bad Christmas movie. It’s real and it’s life and she doesn’t know what to do about any of it.

 

She rummages through her backpack to find her phone, planning on calling Ruby and asking for just some kind of magic guru life advice. She can’t call her parents or Killian, but when she dials Ruby’s number, she doesn’t pick up. Sighing, she sits down on the bench that’s up here, the ice on the wood practically seeping through her jeans. If she closes her eyes for just a second, everything fading to black, maybe all of her problems will be solved and she’ll know exactly what to do. It’s been a long time since her biggest issue was liking a guy and not knowing exactly how he felt in return, and she’s not sure how to handle it as an adult. It seemed so much easier when she was a teenager, jumping into things when scars hadn’t formed and walls weren’t built. But now she has scars that may not be visible but are red and raw and real. And she has walls that she built from years of hurt and betrayal and not wanting to get her heart broken again.

 

When she thinks about it, though, Killian is someone who helped stitch up her scars and take down her walls, piece by piece, allowing her to rebuild them when she needed to, but never high enough to keep him out.

 

It’s a revelation she wasn’t prepared for, and while she’s going to do something about it, she just doesn’t know what or when.

 

But soon.

 

First, she’s got to go buy a new canvas.

 

* * *

 

Her mom sets down the turkey on the table, the meat already carved into slices, and it joins the rest of the food that’s already been prepared. For just the three of them, her mom really knows how to go all out for a Christmas Eve dinner. It’s only when she’s looking to make sure there’s macaroni and cheese that she sees two extra place settings.

 

“Mom, when did we suddenly get two extra family members?”

 

“Oh,” her mom startles, brushing her hands on her jeans, “Killian didn’t tell you?”

 

“Killian didn’t tell me what?”

 

“Your father invited he and Liam over for Christmas Eve dinner since they were apparently just going to eat Chinese food down at the Rabbit Hole.”

 

“I guess I haven’t really talked to him today. I didn’t know.”

 

“Are you two okay? You’re not in a fight or anything?”

 

“No, no,” she waves her mom away before getting up from the table, “just busy with work and all.”

 

“Good because I – ”

 

She’s saved by the bell when the doorbell rings, and she practically sprints to the front door, swinging it open and revealing Killian and Liam standing outside all bundled up like snowmen with a Tupperware dish. She greets Liam first, giving him a quick side hug and telling him she’s happy to see him before moving onto Killian. He wraps her in a warm embrace, one that lasts far too long as she nuzzles her head in his chest and tightens her arms around his stomach. She’s been avoiding him to deal with her own feelings, but she doesn’t think she’s ever been so thankful to see him.

 

He’s still her best friend, and she can’t imagine not spending this holiday together.

 

“Hi, love,” he greets when they pull back from each other, a timid smile on his face.

 

“Hi. I, um, I didn’t…why didn’t you tell me you guys were coming?”

 

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear before reaching forward and tucking some of her hair behind her own ear. “Your dad didn’t invite me until about two hours ago, and after I called Liam to tell him, he got so worked into a frenzy about not having something to bring, we both got caught up in that.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You okay there, love?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she promises, pressing up on her toes and kissing his cheek, “I’m just excited to get to spend the evening with you is all.”

 

The five of them settle down to dinner, and while it’s full of her parents asking Liam how business is down at the Rabbit Hole or her mom asking Killian about if her dad is eating his lunches at work, eventually it dissolves into actual, fun conversation. The wine her mom got out probably helps. There are debates over which Star Wars movies are the best, if Die Hard is actually a Christmas movie, and then everyone but Killian making fun of her for saying the Princess Bride is her all-time favorite movie. Then, of course, comes the embarrassing stories of her childhood, Liam and her parents reminiscing on all of the stupid things she and Killian did when they were younger. Killian breaking his leg because she asked him to help her climb on top of the roof to see if Santa left tracks is a popular one, and as funny and as embarrassing as it is to think about that, all she really sees in that story now is how Killian would do anything for her.

 

And he always has.

 

She catches his eye from across the table, and when he winks at her, she has to hide her giggle and her blush with her napkin.

 

“Oi,” he protests, raising his voice over all of the others, “I was nine, and I was already aware that our friend in red didn’t exist. I was simply trying to keep the Christmas spirit alive in this one over here.”

 

“Aren’t you still doing that, little brother?”

 

“Younger,” she corrects for Killian, and when he looks at her this time, it’s to give her the softest smile she’s even seen, affection practically pouring out of his eyes. “And don’t be mad that you didn’t get invited along on the adventure, Liam.”

 

“I’m practically a decade older than you, lass. I don’t think I would have been welcome on you and Killian’s adventures.”

 

“Hell, most of the time I wasn’t even welcome, brother. But I couldn’t let Emma climb on roofs and sneak out of the house by herself.”

 

“Hey,” she tosses a roll at him, and he catches it in one hand before taking a bite out of it, “some things are still secrets.”

 

“Oh, honey,” her father laughs, “we knew you were sneaking out of your bedroom window.”

 

“What the hell? Why did I never get grounded for that?”

 

Her dad shrugs, and she feels like an idiot for all of those times she thought she was being sly sneaking around. “You were with Killian. God help us, but we trusted the kid almost as much as we trusted you. At least until you started dating. That’s when the trellis came down.”

 

“You took the trellis down so I couldn’t sneak out my window?”

 

Her mom throws a roll at her dad, and he doesn’t catch it in the same way that Killian did, the bread falling to the floor as her mother laughs. “David, some things we still keep secret.”

 

By the time dinner is over, her stomach hurts from laughing so hard. It was everything she needed after how much she’s been freaking out this week, and a small part of her wonders if her dad knew that when he asked the Joneses to come over for something that’s usually just a family event.

 

 Liam has to excuse himself to go check on the bar around ten, and after he leaves, Killian offers to walk her back to her apartment. She was going to stay with her parents tonight, but as soon as he asks, she accepts. The snow has calmed tonight, no new white powder adding to what’s on the ground, and it makes for an easier walk home. Without even thinking, she wraps her arm around Killian’s waist, sticking the limb underneath his jacket so that she’s almost pressing up against skin. He’s so warm, always so warm, and her entire body heats when he wraps his arm around shoulder and leaves a lingering kiss to her temple, the pinpricks of his scruff staying behind, too.

 

When they get to her door, Killian bypassing his own apartment on the way up, she doesn’t want this night to be over. She doesn’t want him to leave, but she’s suddenly at a loss for words as to how to talk to Killian. Luckily, he’s always been better with words than her.

 

“You want to let me inside so that we can watch a bunch of Christmas movies and wait for Santa to come?”

 

“I don’t think you can get on the roof of this apartment.”

 

“Aye, probably not. But we’ll call it one last Christmas quest before things go back to normal.”

 

What he doesn’t realize is that her life is never going to go back to normal after this.

 

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

“Killian?”

 

He hums, and from the way his cheek is pressed to hers, she feels it throughout her entire body, the heat of his body and the vibrations of his hum warming her in ways that this blanket never could. The realization that she likes Killian, that she maybe, definitely even loves him, has shaken her to her core. It’s all she can think about, all she’s been able to think about for days now. Well, she’s also consumed with what Ruby said, that Killian’s had a thing for her for years. She’d never noticed it before, any of the things Ruby mentioned, but now she notices everything.

 

She notices the way that Killian’s hands always linger just a touch too long, his skin warm even through the material of her sweaters when his large hand rests against the small of her back or when his calloused fingers play with her soft ones, twisting the rings that she wears or tracing along the freckles on the backside of her hand, sometimes moving up her arms to trace the more abundant freckles there. Sometimes she thinks he doesn’t know that he’s doing, like it’s some kind of unconscious movement, and she’d never really noticed it before this past week. She’s always just kind of accepted it, figuring that it was the kind of casual intimacy that came with being friends with someone for so long.

 

But now, as his fingers play with the tips of her hair, turning and twisting them while the heel of his hand presses against her shoulder, she feels like every touch is setting her aflame, like the fire from the candles interspersed throughout her apartment are actually flickering throughout her body, making her feel warm in a way that she hasn’t felt in years.

 

Actual years.

 

She also notices the way he smiles when he’s with her. That’s something that was a little trickier to pick up on. Killian’s a happy guy, much happier than anyone with his past has any right being, so him smiling is nothing new. He smiles as he does patrol, rolling down the window of his cruiser and waving to everyone in town, teasing Leroy to stay away from the liquor during daylight hours while jesting with Archie to make sure that Pongo, the most well-behaved dog on the planet, wears a leash and doesn’t go running wild throughout the streets. He grins at Granny while ordering his food from the diner, flirting with the old woman in the same way that she flirts with him, and he beams at her mother when they happen to be in the same place, always having something to talk about between Emma and her dad. Dinner tonight was proof enough of that.

 

But when he smiles at her, yeah, he smiles in those same ways, ear to ear grins with his pearly whites showing or little smirks with his lips upturned on one side with his eyebrow going with it, but there’s also another grin, something more subtle, soft even. His eyes crinkle in affection, the blue of them somehow getting bluer, and his lips press together into something that makes her heart flutter. It’s one that he only uses when it’s getting late and she does something like eating peanut butter right out of the jar with a spoon or when she gets excited finally finishing a painting or a project. It’s something different, something just for her, and she’s somehow missed it all of these years.

 

Missing things seems to be how things are going at this point, however, because apparently her best friend has been in love with her for years without her ever realizing it.

 

How could she be so stupid?

 

She’s likely been in love in love with him for awhile and never noticed.

 

How could she be so blind?

 

Blind and stupid. That’s what she’ll put on her business cards.

 

“Sweetheart?” Killian prods, his fingers yanking on her hair until she comes back to herself, realizing that she’d asked him a question before drifting off into her own head. “You said my name?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she apologizes, trying to regain the courage she had a moment ago. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Always.”

 

A chuckle passes through her lips, and she wonders if Killian can hear her heart beating in her chest while her stomach does some kind of somersault. “Why have you been doing all of this?”

 

“All of what?”

 

She turns her head to look at him, instantly losing the heat of his bristled scruff brushing her forehead only for it to replaced by the smile on Killian’s face, that same soft smile that she was just fantasizing about.

 

“This Christmas thing. Killian. You know that I don’t hate Christmas. I was just annoyed at that movie and then pissed at my mom. I didn’t need all of this.”

 

She swears that blush rises in his cheeks, but his face is casted in the shadows of the room. The only lights are the colors of the Christmas tree and the soft glow of the television screen, Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney dancing across the screen and around each other.

 

“Aye, but you were so cross, so upset that night, and I wanted you to love Christmas the way you should. Yeah, a lot of the activities are cheesy and a little pointless. I’m still flustered over the damn gingerbread house we did. Bloody thing fell apart no matter how much icing I glued it together with.”

 

“I thought you were going to throw it out the window and scar the Jefferson kids.”

 

“Aye, but I didn’t, and we found a way to get the damn thing to stand, together. And to answer your earlier question, all I’ve ever wanted was your heart’s desire, love. I just wanted you to be happy.”

 

“I am happy.”

 

“I’m glad, love.”

 

They settle back into watching the movies, her head resting against his shoulder this time while her fingers snake down between them and intertwine with his. It’s…they’re holding hands like it’s natural, like it’s something they do without a second thought. She’s been dating Killian this entire time and never realized it. She’s been blind for years, and she’d finally like to see, to come into the light and have her vision be filled with all of the colors of Christmas.

 

Oh damn. Did she actually just think that? Has she really become a woman in a Hallmark movie?

 

“Killian, why have you never asked me out on a date?”

 

His entire body stiffens next to hers as his fingers go lax against hers. “W-well, technically I have, and you rejected me.”

 

“When we were kids doesn’t count.”

 

“It most definitely does. You broke my heart, and I’ve never quite recovered from that.”

 

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her heart, “but I’m being serious. Why have we never dated? We get along. We have…chemistry. I think you’re attractive, and I kind of assume that you think the same of me from experience.”

 

“Experience?”

 

“I’ve seen you stare at my ass a time or two.”

 

He definitely blushes this time before he shrugs his shoulders. “I simply thought you were never interested, love. If I had, I would have asked you on another date ages ago.”

 

_Oh. My. God._

Did he…did he really just say that? Is all of this true? Is it really happening?

 

“And what if…what if I was?”

 

His head recoils and his eyes continue to blink while his lips part. He looks beautiful, and she already knows that she’s in over her head if she’s thinking that while waiting to see if her best friend is going to reject her or not. His hand begins to stroke her hair again, moving down until he’s rubbing up and down her shoulder while he studies her face. She’s never been this nervous, and it takes everything in her not to vomit all over Killian at this exact moment.

 

“Are you interested?”

 

“I am, but I – ”

 

She doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence because Killian pounces on her, his lips crashing into hers and completely wrecking her life. It takes her a moment to kiss him back, but it’s only the smallest of moments. His lips are warm like the rest of him, but they’re also soft, so damn soft in comparison to the way that his scruff rubs up against her chin and his hand threads into her hair while his other holds her face, angling it to deepen the kiss. When his tongue brushes her bottom lip, she whimpers before pushing Killian back and straddling his lap, her own hands threading into his hair and holding on like her life depends on it.

 

Her hips roll against his, and he groans, something she’s going to try to remember for the rest of her life, before pulling back. His breath is heavy, almost as heavy as her is, and while they try to learn to breathe again, their foreheads rest against each other while her nose squishes into his cheek and his to hers.

 

Reaching his thumb around to her chin, she nips it before looking into his darkened blue eyes.

 

“That was…”

 

“A damn good first kiss.”

 

He chuckles as he nods against her, pressing forward to brush his lips against hers again. It’s softer this time, sweeter, and his thumb presses against her chin to hold her in place instead of his hands tightly gripping into his hair. They get a little carried away when he pulls back, his lips trailing along her jawline before he nibbles on her ear, her entire body humming like it never has before.

 

“Killian,” she gasps when he harshly bites down. “K-Killian, wait.”

 

“What love?” he whispers in her ear, causing her to shiver.

 

“I have something else I need to say.”

 

“I’m not particularly interested in talking right now, darling,” he growls before kissing the sensitive spot just below her ear.

 

“It’s important, and we’re definitely coming back to this.”

 

He pulls back with a groan, and she is in absolute disbelief that she has Killian Jones sexually frustrated.

 

She is in absolute disbelief that Killian has her sexually frustrated.

 

“What is it, love?”

 

Her hand caresses his face, and he leans into it, tilting his cheek so it rests there. “I…do you love me?”

 

“More than anything.”

 

He answers without an hesitation, the smile on his face brighter than the Christmas tree, but she still needs to know. She still needs the words.

 

“But it’s not just a friendly love, right? It’s…you’re in love with me.”

 

“Desperately.”

 

“I’m desperately in love with you, too.”

 

“Good,” he chuckles before propping his hands under her ass and picking her up, a squeal emanating from her as she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around her waist while he walks them to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

When she wakes the next morning, her legs are tangled with Killian’s, the only way to distinguish her limbs from his is the lack of hair on hers and the excess of warm, soft hair on his. How is he so warm all of the time? It shouldn’t be possible, but his heat keeps drawing her closer as she carefully turns in his arms to face him. He stirs the slightest bit, and while she swears his long, dark eyelashes flutter against his cheek, he doesn’t wake. He’s so beautiful, something she’s always known and often appreciated, but he’s always been Killian, her pal. He was never someone for her to swoon over, and then he went and romanticized her for this entire month, dragging her along to do all of these Christmas activities together while they got to know each other even more than they already do. She’s known him for over twenty years, and she’s still finding new ways to know him, last night included.

 

For a brief moment, panic strikes her, the realization that she slept with her best friend coming to full realization as their still unclothed bodies tangle together in the morning after, but she pushes that panic down, waiting until it dissipates like the snow falling outside. He loves her. She loves him. There’s everything in the world to be afraid of, but at the same time, there’s nothing at all.

 

Maybe all of those movies know a little about what they’re talking about, but there’s no way they can capture moments like this.

 

“G’morning, love,” Killian murmurs, his eyes hooded and barely opened as she brings her attention back to his gaze. He almost immediately moves his hand to run down the sides of her body, feeling the dips and curves while her entire body practically hums in pleasure. “Sleep well?”

 

“There were parts of the night where I slept well,” she trails her fingers up his sides until the tangle in his chest hair, curling the strands around her fingers, “and parts where there was no sleeping involved. I kind of liked those parts.”

 

“So you liked the yule log almost as much as I liked the cookies?”

 

She snorts before burying her head in his chest and nuzzling her chin under his, kissing the soft, warm skin there. “You’re a weird man, Killian Jones.”

 

“Aye, I am.” He nudges her chin up before kissing her nose, nibbling a bit at the skin. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

 

“Merry Christmas. Do you want to come with me to my parents’ house for lunch and to open presents? We can stay in our pajamas.”

 

Killian’s eyes bug, opening and closing as if he’s trying to come back to reality. “Love, I know your parents are fond of me, but I can almost guarantee they don’t want to see us walking around in what we slept in last night.”

 

“Stop,” she giggles before wrapping him in a tight embrace, peppering kisses all across his chest before he skillfully rolls them over so that he’s resting on his back and she’s on top of his chest. She brushes his hair off of his forehead and leaves her hand there while she looks down at him. “We’re obviously not going to my parents’ house naked.”

 

“Why? You don’t want to share me?”

 

“Not in the slightest.” She brushes her lips against his. “I love you.”

 

“Aye,” he agrees, reaching up to brush her own hair back behind her ear. “I love you.”

 

When she’s getting dressed, her hair unmanageable without washing it, Killian comes into the bedroom only dressed in his boxers but with a large canvas in front of him…the canvas she was painting for him and didn’t wrap.

 

“Darling, this is beautiful. This is the view from the lighthouse isn’t it?”

 

“It is. It was also your Christmas present. So Merry Christmas, I guess. Do you…do you like it?”

 

He puts the canvas on her bed before stepping forward and resting his hands on her hips, squeezing tightly as he dips his head and kisses her. “I absolutely love it. You’re bloody brilliant.”

 

It’s the best Christmas she’s ever had, and her parents don’t even blink an eye when Killian walks in the front door with her Christmas morning. She can tell her mom is bursting at the seams, but Mary Margaret is simply going to have to wait. Liam comes over after Killian remembers to tell his brother the change in plans, and he simply raises his eyebrows at their interlaced fingers and the way she perches herself in Killian’s lap on the couch.

 

That night, she and Killian are staring at her Christmas tree, the one she didn’t want in the first place, and she’s hit with an overwhelming sense of melancholy.

 

“So does this mean your Christmas quest is over?”

 

He hums before tightening his hands over her stomach and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got one more thing to do, but it’s going to have to wait until next year.”

 

“Next year? That better be worth the wait.”

 

It is.

 

Killian proposes next December from the top of the lighthouse, snow falling down around them, and the matching painting of that moment goes next to the original in the cottage they buy down by the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Melanie! It's been a joy getting to know you, and I really hope you enjoy this little gift! 
> 
> Part two is coming tomorrow or on the 26th :D


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